Her thin nightgown clung to her body like a wet second skin. Shivers. So cold. Olivia blinked and opened her eyes. Dead grass. Water pouring down her face. Silvery clouds. Pale moonlight.

The gravestones sprouted like a gray forest around her. Wailing, the wind ripped through the skeletal trees, tugging at her wet hair, biting into her bare skin.

She took a step but stumbled and fell to her knees. The soggy ground tried to pull her down – swallow her – make her lie next to the sleepers. Eyes wide, her numb fingers dug into the closest gravestone, desperate not to join the dead.

In Loving Memory Of

Olivia Westenra

1871 - 1890

May her soul find peace.

She gasped. A whimper passed over her blue lips. It didn’t make sense. Her name, the years. She was alive, wasn’t she? She rubbed her eyes and the strange etchings erased themselves from the stone.

The cold air clawed at her lungs, and her pulse was deafening in her ears. She managed to stand up. Her knees wobbled. She couldn’t remember going to bed the night before. How had she ended up here?

Mist seemed to ooze out of the ground itself, swirling into a milky vision-hampering haze. A shadow shifted just outside of her reach, and Olivia felt her heart stop.

“Who’s… who’s out there?” Her voice sounded like she’d eaten a handful of drawing chalk. “You can’t hurt me… I’m… I’m under Van Helsing’s protection!”

She thought she heard a breathy chuckle from the mist, but it could just as well have been the wind, rustling through the last valiant leaves of the dark trees.

Unintelligible whispers tickled her eardrums – it was as if the dead had found voices and were urging her to run. She took a stumbling step, but her leg gave in. She prepared herself for the collision with the ground, but someone caught her fall. Strong arms lifted her up. Too weak to fight, she allowed herself to be carried. She pressed her eyes shut, afraid of what she might see.

“Don’t worry, little one.” The words slithered gently into her ear.

Carefully, she opened her eyes to a squint. Black hair, like motor oil, leaked down the sides of his pale face. Eyes like giant rubies twinkled deep within his dark sockets. Dried blood covered his bottom lip and chin.

“Dracula…” she breathed.

A smile split his thin lips, revealing a set of dizzyingly sharp fangs.

A few hours earlier.

The doctor’s face darkened when he heard the message on the hospital’s PA system. He shot Jonathan a venomous glare. The boy was struggling with an IV bag, and his cheeks filled with the blood of embarrassment.

The white coat flowed behind him like a cape as he ripped through the ER. Nurse Beatrice held up her hand to wave, but instantly pulled it down again when she saw the brewing storm.

“Twice in a week…” Alucard said in tense nonchalance. “What an exquisite pleasure. You have the face of someone who’s passing a kidney stone. Tell me, when was your last checkup?”

“Listen,” Professor Van Helsing said. “I didn’t come here for small talk.”

“If you’re as old as I am, it’s all about appreciating the little things.” A smirk lingered on his lips. “Call your insurance company, and let’s schedule something. I’d be happy to take a look at your… vitals.”

“Did you take her?” the professor said gravely.

“Pardon?”

“Olivia Westenra, did you take her or not?”

“Now, why would I go and do that? I’ve been clean for a century.”

“She’s been sleepwalking… but never left the house before...”

“You… failed to mention this detail when I last visited.” Alucard no longer managed to maintain a level voice. “Keeping things from those trying to help you... usually ends poorly. You of all people should know that.”

The doctor ripped the white coat off his shoulders and let it sail to the floor. He leaned over to the refrigerator and bit into the blood bag. His face twisted in discontent over the cold meal. Without a second glance, he burst out of the ER and into the rain.

The darkness lifted him into the night sky, and he drifted with the low clouds over the rooftops. He reached out with his sensitive mind, searching for Lucy’s descendant, filling the dreams of the sleeping citizens with horrors in the process.

He felt a disturbance, a force that shouldn’t be there, sliding through the streets of the city. He had to deal with that later. Finding Olivia was the only thing that mattered now.

The flight took him across the dark forest, out over muddy reaped fields, and along the silent river. On a hill in the distance, he saw the silhouette of the Westenra Mansion. His nostrils flared as he picked up the scent of fear.

A thin figure stumbled over a graveyard shrouded in drizzle-mist. Alucard sighed in relief and landed in on the grimy lawn.

“Don’t worry, little one.”

He cradled her shivering form in his arms. The rain seemed to enhance her intoxicating smell of sweat and terror. He felt his fangs come out and struggled to keep himself from burying them in her silky neck.

She looked up at him, her turquoise eyes big. “Dracula…”

The grin was instant. She knew. She had known all along. Had she read her grandmother’s journal, perhaps? Or had the story been passed down? It didn’t matter which, when she held onto to him so tightly. He licked his lips. Would she mind if he took a tiny sip?

Alucard shook the thought out of his head. When he had last given in to that desire, things had quickly spiraled out of control. He needed to stay focused this time. He couldn’t allow the red thirst to take over.

“Don’t worry,” he said again and carried her back toward the mansion.